


Nowhere To Run

by GalekhXigisi



Category: Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Adopted Tubbo, Asexual Technoblade, Autistic Technoblade, Autistic Tubbo, Canon-Typical Violence, Child Abuse, Gang Rape, He/Him Pronouns For Tommyinnit, He/Him and They/Them Pronouns For Technoblade, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Medium Technoblade, Non-Binary Technoblade, Permanent Injury, They/Them Pronouns for Tubbo, Trans Tommyinnit, Tubbo has Horns, Violent Thoughts, it dont make sense its my concept tho, non-binary Tubbo, the voices are souls and shit, tommyinnit has adhd
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:28:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28330161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GalekhXigisi/pseuds/GalekhXigisi
Summary: Technoblade had started off in a caring world, but after everything had been ripped so violently from them and the world seemed to turn on them, they never expected to find the same kindness their Mommy and Mama had to them.And then they meet Philza and his three children, all of which seem to be rather different from Techno theirself. To say the least, it's a jarring shift.
Comments: 15
Kudos: 296





	1. The precursor

_ Technoblade. _

That wasn’t always their name. 

They couldn’t remember if they even had a name to begin with, but they remember their Mamas, remember how Mama and Mommy would comb their fingers through pink locks of hair, telling the youngest stories of generations previous, ones who had fought wars and won for their little arctic clan. Techno had loved those times, remembering them so sharply in their mind, every single detail there, the soft glow of the candle light as they sat on the little rug on the floor. It barely fit the three of them, but they had made due, Mommy would drape her cape over them and Mama would blow out the candle. The stories would be nothing more than whispers as they lulled the child to sleep. 

They remember watching their Mama fall to the ground, remembers watching her head get bashed against the rock. Mama had wanted to offer bread to the boy, the boy who was probably so much older than he looked and certainly looked hungry. The three didn’t have much to their name, no, but they always offered kindness where they could. Mama was always so nice, Techno knew, always amazed by how easily she could give everything away, how easily she could charm those countless voices in the child’s head to calm whispers. And they adored Mommy, too. But no level of adoration could save the woman as her head made contact, so much harder than need be. Mommy’s screams burn into Techno’s mind and, despite only being a child, Techno screams like they’ve never screamed before. 

Mommy screams too, yet she doesn’t make it out of the headlock another child puts her in, slamming her body to the ground. They lost their lives within an instant in front of the child who knew nothing of the cruel feats of the world until that very moment. 

It doesn’t take but a moment for the gaggle of orphans to band together, each wanting to take their time with the traumatized child, whose mind had blurred together, unable to process everything as they stared at the remains of their Mamas, crying out for them with a weak voice, damaging vocal cords heavily. His wails only spawn on more laughter. It means nothing to the orphans, who are doing their best to get Techno’s clothes off. Why did they want their clothes off? Techno didn’t know, still unsure of why everyone was touching him, why things were hurting so bad. 

They scream for their Mama, for their Mommy, but the silence that responds raises terror and panic. And suddenly Techno is screaming from the pain between their legs. There’s laughter and Techno doesn’t  _ understand. _ They don’t understand at all, trying to push them away so they can wake up Mommy, because Mommy’s kisses can heal boo-boos, right? She can help Mama and then they can go home and they can forget about this altogether. 

It doesn’t go like that, because Techno sees red when one of the orphans snatches the little crown from Mommy’s head, looting her corpse and pulling at her axe, laughter joyous as they claim the enchanted axe. 

Techno doesn’t know what happened after the wave of red, but then they come to, they breathe hard, the voices painfully silent. They hold to the cape that clings to their shoulders, pooling around their body. Bodies surround them. It’s comforting, like the weight of the axe and the thin metal that was Mommy’s crown weighing their palms. The snow saps their warmth quickly, as they had the child’s parents. 

No one wakes up. 

Techno skips town, thankful they could read. Mama and Mommy had made a shared effort to teach them how to read, something Techno is forever thankful for. They take up town after town, collecting objects, stealing things. They learn how to get by on their own, build their strength, steal books to learn fancy words. The reminder of their parents’ deaths edges on the anger. The voices don’t settle. 

They don’t learn about a lot of things they should. They’re a feral child who looks odd, wandering through the woods, barefoot, talking to the animals around them, chatting up endermen, balking at creepers, carrying a crown, an axe that’s named Technoblade, and always wearing that red cape, despite the fact that it was made to fit the muscular woman who was built like a gigantic brick shithouse. They don’t speak to anyone unless they absolutely have to. 

They don’t know why they bleed between their legs every few weeks. They don’t know why it hurts so bad. They don’t know why they don’t have a name. They don’t know a lot of things, a lot o things that they won’t tell anyone else about, unable to voice it. 

Everything is fine until Techno finds a place that accepts them, that pulls them into happy embraces and feed them without issue, letting the child do as they need to to get by. Techno doesn’t understand it, unable to see the kindness their Mama and Mommy had shown them. 

It was perfect in a painful way. Techno liked having a place to sleep, albeit a thin little sheet on the floor in a dirt hut Techno had built on the outskirts of the town. They have to rebuild it every single time it storms. 

Things came with exceptions and this town housed a particular one Techno hadn’t expected. The withers constantly plague the town. 

In a fit of needing to repay the townsfolk for their help and prove not to be an unbearable little heathen, they listen to the voices that edge them on with encouragement, slaying the withers. 

It wasn’t a positive response that Techno got. The village had seen the withers as a beast sent by the Divine to cleanse them of their issues and sins. They beat the child, beat Techno until they could only cry from the horrid pain, hurt him between the legs like those orphans had. Blood covers their bruised body and they scream so much that they lose their voice entirely. It doesn’t help that their voice box was already damaged from years before, 

They lay in the snow, so cold and alone with only the three things they’d had before. They can only cry and beg for a savior, only left with their axe, cape, and the cold metal that now burns at their already bruised skin. 

  
  



	2. bruises taking the pink from your skin

Phil stretches his wings, letting out a weak sigh. Tommy stretches his, too, the little three-year-old huffing as he does so, arms stretching upwards. The shirt rides up a slam bit, but he only laughs as Wilbur takes the opportunity to tickle the younger, earning happy laughter from his brother. 

Tubbo smiles from their spot in Phil’s arms. Tommy had wanted to stretch his wings tonight, to go out for an early night’s walk before the sun entirely set, and Phil had allowed it, but now the sun had long since set and the chill of the snow had began to seep into their bones, well, the four were making their way back hope, tired as can be. Tubbo preferred to take a comfortable little nap in Phil’s arms, though, and Phil hadn’t minded all that much, aware that Tommy’s early walk had caused them to miss their nap. 

The sleepy child yawns softly, still clinging to the little bee plush in their arms, though they seem to suddenly stir from their sleepy state. Their ears flicker and they peer off in a direction that Phil knows isn’t near their home. The well beaten path they’ve made from their walks proves it. Their ears, though, center towards the noise, seemingly intrigued. 

“Hear something, Tubbo,” Phil asks quietly, whispering to them. 

Tubbo nods, humming quietly. “Crying,” they deadpan. They pat at Phil’s arm and point in the direction their ears had turned toward. “Someone’s crying,” they say now, a little more coherent as they wake their self up. “Sad.” 

Phil sharpens slightly, the words getting caught by his sons, as well. THey both seem to sharpen in suit and Phil pales lightly. 

_ Fuck, _ he mentally curses, finding himself walking forward at Tubbo’s whining insistence. It didn’t help the he felt the obligation to follow. “Stay behind me, okay, boys?” he says to the older two, who both nod, each grabbing softly at a feather of the man’s wing, not tugging it but holding it for reassurance. Unfortunately, Phil does begin to hear the sobs, the sobs that certainly aren’t quiet and seem to be strained. It’s absolute bawling, which makes Phil’s parental instincts kick in. He doesn’t even know i it’s a kid, for fuck’s sake, but he wants to save whoeber it is. 

He falters at the clearing he finds, the crumpled lump of red in the very center of it. Immediately, Phil moves to pass Tubbo to Wilbur, so incredibly careful as he whispers, “Here,” to the young boy. Wilbur doesn’t hesitate, bringing a hand down to hold onto Tommy’s hand. He calls out, “Hello?” A palm gently presses against the hilt of his sword, worried as can be. 

The sobbing doesn’t stop, though it seems to weaken a bit. He’s careful, stepping out into the open. There doesn’t seem to be any sort of reaction to his movements, nor his soft words of warning that follow. In fact, the lump doesn’t seem to react until Phil is kneeling in front of it, pulling up the red fabric to find what’s underneath. 

Phil flinches back as seeing the watery eyes in front of him, meeting the bright, red eyes. He can barely even see them over the swollen lids of his eyes. The bundle finches lightly, attempting to flinch away, but the tiny bit of movement makes the level of pain they’re certainly going through increase, a choked sob leaving them as they try to keep their self as covered as they can. THe fear invades their wild eyes and they look terrified as they quiver back from the man. 

Phil wants to throw up, peering at the child. Their features are soft, more rounded out from how swollen their whole body seems to be as they continue to slink away the absolute best they can. He kneels down, softly telling them, “Hey, hey, kiddo, it’s alright. It’s okay, I won’t hurt you!” 

The attempt at comfort, though, seems to go entirely unnoticed as they use the momentum of jerking away to cover their self with the cape. Distressed squeaks leave their lips. 

THe effort all of it takes, though, makes the child pass out and Phil feels so painfully guilty as he sees the other fall limp. 

Carefully, Phil moves forward. He can’t just leave them there, they’re a fucking  _ child. _ They can’t be any older than fourteen, at the  _ very _ most. They look to be about the same age as Wilbur does. He attempts to move forward to pick them up, though it’s certainly going to be harder than he thought. The child isn’t heavy, not really, despite the clear muscle on them, but once he finally gets his arm hooked under them to pick them up, he notices two things that are very much concerning to him. THe first thing is the fact that there’s an axe directly beside them, certainly old but not at all dull, even  _ enchanted. _ He moves it so he doesn’t possibly harm the child. He finds the word  _ Technoblade _ carved into the side. The second, though, is that his hand connects with a very cold patch of flesh, making his brain short circuit as he realizes that it is, in fact, a patch of flesh that he’s touching, clammy from the cold. He gets a whine in response to the accidentally touching the other’s ribs. 

The smeared blood makes his throat tighten and he wants to cry as he carefully picks the child up, putting the axe in his spare hilt. He does his best to cover the child, though the dark bruises along their leg and general body is, quite honestly,  _ alarming. _ By the way Wilbur seems to straighten out, it’s clear that the boy catches the bruises and such. He doesn’t say anything but he moves to pick up Tubbo and starts getting Tommy to walk along with the other. He follows closely behind him and does his best to keep Tommy in tow with them both alike. At one point, he eventually just picks up his brother, ignoring his protests in favor of just letting the boy vent out his frustration, knowing Tommy would at least fall asleep quickly tonight because of it. 

Phil has to wipe away a few stray tears, sniffling softly. It can’t be heard over the sounds of his feel crunching up the snow, nor the soft whimpers that leave the child wrapped protectively in his arms. 

Silently, he vows that he’ll save them, that he’ll keep them safe and make whoever hurt this child so incredibly bad pay for it. 

  
  



	3. Soap

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> reposting c3 because it didn't format right the first time

When Techno’s eyes finally open enough to physically see things, he finds the light to be far too bright. His eyes burn, although they would definitely burn anyway, if the way his body feels so incredibly swollen is any sort of indicator. He whimpers, squirming lightly before stiffening at realizing what his surrounding are like. 

It’s warm, far too warm to still be his spot in the snow. The last he remembered was a blonde man trying to speak to him. Techno had been so terrified, a feeling that certainly hadn’t disappeared now that he realizes he’s in the bath, someone gently running their hands through his hair. Instinctively, he jerks away, whining loudly as his hair gets pulled harshly. It takes nothing more than one quick movement to be facing the person who was there with their hands in his hair. It’s the same blonde from earlier, which makes Techno sharpen immediately. 

“Hey, kiddo,” they say, their voice soft. It doesn’t grate Techno’s ears like earlier but it still hurts. “I’m really sorry for what happened earlier. You were really cut up and I really needed you to be cleaned up before I could bandage anything.” He frowns lightly, though the words seem sincere. 

At that mention, Techno’s eyes flit to the water, a disgusting mix of brown and orange, blood sloshed in with dirt. Techno couldn’t remember the last time they’d had a bath, especially at seeing the flakes of leaves and other twigs they know have come from their hair floating in the water. He hadn’t had a proper bath in  _ ages. _ Against all of his instincts, he finds himself relaxing somewhat.

‘Your hair was matted and I figured it would be best to get it taken care of as quickly as I could. I didn’t mean to wake ou up from it. I’ve got a healing potion if you’re willing to drink some, but it really only speeds up healing. I’m pretty sure you have a lot of broken bones, honestly.” 

Techno glares at the man, arms crossing over his chest as he crosses his legs protectively. A blush colors his cheeks. 

“I understand that you’re not too happy about this, but at least let me help you get healed up, kiddo? Your clothes…  _ cape _ is drying and your axe and crown are in there.” He frowns lightly. “I don’t know if you caught it earlier, but my name is Philza.”

The younger of the two falters for a moment. He opens his mouth to speak, but he can’t get any words out, coughing at the weak noise he lets out, straining his throat. They cough into the corner of their arm, flinching at the bruises and the sharp taste of blood thick in their mouth. He can’t tell over the bruises if the blood in his elbow is new or old, making him cringe and move down to wash it in the dirty water. 

“Sorry, kiddo, what was that?” He asks softly. “Do you know sign language or anything like that? If you can write, I can get something for you to write with if you’d like?” 

Techno frowns, pointing to their self. Techno only knows sign language from all the many books he’s collected over the years, picking up and and all skills he could. Sign language was one of them. 

He careful with his arms, keeping them out from his body to spell  _ no name. _

“You don’t have a name?” 

He shakes his head in response, a simple  _ no. _ He didn’t remember anything, couldn’t remember a hint of any name outside of the town’s bastard or the inbred animal. He didn’t like those names and he didn’t want Philza to calm them either name, cringing slightly. 

“That’s okay,” Philza smiles widely, his aura so incredibly welcoming. For some reason, a majority of the voices inside their head don’t seem to have many thoughts on it outside of  _ take the bull by the horns. _ He wants to, really does want to as he does so. But there’s a whisper that says this will be absolutely horrid, that there is nothing that will be good to come of this. He has that sort of luck and he finds himself glaring at the man, though there’s no actual spite nor anger behind it. “We can get you a name, if you’d like? Your axe says  _ Technoblade _ on it? Or we can find something else for you?” 

The other slowly nods, just simply signing  _ T - E - C - H - N - O - B - L - A - D - E fine. _ He doesn’t feel the need to find anything else, very much willing to adapt to it. It’s easy and simple, on the table incredibly easy. THey don’t care. Names are pointless, in their opinion, but Technoblade’s opinion doesn’t really matter, the voices tell him as he curls up without even realizing it. They hate the voices, doing their best to ignore them. The voices had been his only friends since their mothers had died, though, so he finds it more than just a bit hard. 

Techno finds himself turning back around, hair splayed out for the other, willing to be washed. He know that it could be bad, that Philza may just end up betraying him worse than the village had, but for this very moment, he wants nothing more than to feel the warmth of the other playing in his hair. He remembers one of those nights where Mama’s hands ran through his hair and lets the tears fall into the water beneath him, sniffling as the gentle sobs leave him. It isn’t a secret that he’s crying, no, the weak sobs wracking his body as he does so. The conditioner in his hair that Philza is using to help detangle the long, pink locks makes for the jerks he does not pull against his hair. Philza takes his time, not commenting on the cries that hurt the child’s lungs and ribs alike. Yeah, one of their ribs was  _ definitely _ broken, they knew for certain as they feel the way the bones shake and ache as he moves. It hurts so incredibly much and Techno knew there was a limited bit he could actually do to stop the irritation. He could bandage up damn near any wound, do a few small scale surgeries, set bones, and a handful of other things that he shouldn’t know, but does. None of that is useful now. 

“It’s alright, Technoblade,” Philza says in a soft voice. It’s the only thing outside o the crying and the noises that come with washing Techno’s hair to break the silence. The piglin actually finds immense comfort in this, more than he knows how to explain. 


	4. Chapter 4

Techno knows better than to be scared of dreams, honestly. They didn’t understand them and the dreams could make them upset, sure, but what was the actual point in being upset about them? Techno didn’t care, couldn’t find it in them _to_ care. Sure, they would wake up paranoid or have a panic attack if the dream were to bring up a particular memory that was, well, _less than liked._ The panic had long since fallen from severe to tolerable, though. THeir dreams felt more like visions, more often than not, flashes of things that would happen. The Voices always had things to say and when they had things to show, that was how they would show it, when they remembered. The dreams that involved The Voices left Techno in shambles, sometimes. 

It’s what has the child crawling out of bed. Their body aches in protest but the healing potion they’d been given had done wonders to help heal up the worst of it to a tolerable standpoint. Their ribs were still broken and they still had bruises, but the swelling had gone down and they no longer wanted to scream at the pain that invaded between their legs, though Techno knew it was sensitive as he limped through the home. 

  
The sun had just risen. Techno knew he had fallen asleep late, probably having only gotten a few hours of sleep, if even that. The sun’s rays are limited from their wintery bits, but it reflects on the snow and paints everything white. Techno dislikes the brightness, covering his eyes, and whining softly. It was overwhelming, especially after waking up in a dark room, and even more so with their eyes being red and blue, already so sensitive to light. They close the blinds to the little room Phil had helped him into the night before and huffs, walking silently back to their bed. 

It’s odd, to have a _real_ bed for the first time. He had fallen off once last night, to which Phil had immediately ran in, fretting over the child like a mother hen would. Techno had needed help getting back up and, in the end, Phil had placed a hefty amount of blankets and pillows around the perimeter of the bed so they wouldn’t fall off. Techno had slept peacefully, wrapping around the little barricade, enjoying it so much. Phil had even thrown their cape over their body once it had dried and Techno had found their self waking up without cold seeping into their bones. It was a luxury Techno wished everyone knew, or at least some form of it. It wasn’t fun to sleep cold, they think to their self as they run their hands through their hair. 

Techno knows that will become a self-comforting sort of movement at some point. They’ll cling to any touches to their head, to their forehead, to any form of affection they can grasp at. THey had managed to obtain trust issues while constantly yearning for some form of affection, never going to trust that the affection is real or at all genuine. 

The strands flow with little tangles and they get the little hair brush Phil had put on the little desk by the bed the night before. They comb through the strands, seeing the way pink turns to white in certain spots. Could piglins like Techno grey? He didn’t think piglins could grey, yet… 

A soft knock comes at the door, startling the child, who flinches. They can only let out a soft noise of acknowledgment and the door slowly opens. In pops in someone who’s short, shorter than Phil, though the short, blonde locks curl around their head, framing bright eyes. _Phil’s spawn,_ a voice says. Another head pops in, instead brown hair covering the other’s head, a bit longer than the blond’s own and certainly not as curly, only wavy at the very best. They hold to a little plush of some yellow thing that Techno can’t make out, yet he doesn’t mind all that much. Green, sleepy eyes fear at the oldest, little ears twitching as they wipe the sleep from their left eye, a quiet yawn leaving them. The blond holds to their left hand and they ask in a whisper-yell, “Can we - Can we come in, Mister - Mister Technoblade?” 

Techno almost says no, the urge to either run or beat then filling him mind as the Voices scream at him. However, another screams to let the two in. They can’t be like the orphans and it isn’t as if the piglin couldn’t break their skulls if he needed to. The two would be nothing at all to Technoblade, so, he reluctantly nods, setting the hairbrush beside himself on the bed. The two immediately run forward, the blond pulling on the other’s hand. Techno has to help the two onto the too-tall bed. He doesn’t mind. 

“I’m Tommy,” the blond starts immediately, “I’m Tubbo’s big brother and - and Tubbo is - Tubbo is my little sibling! We call them Bee, too, sometimes!” 

Techno nods in acknowledgement, hands folding in his lap. It isn’t as if they can physically say anything back. 

“Dad said - Dad said you would be staying, if you wanted.” Tommy says it with a wide smile, revealing slightly crooked baby teeth, no where near as sharp and jagged as Techno’s own. “You’re like our big sibling, kind of! Dad said he didn’t know what pro no - pro - pr - ponno -” 

“Pronouns,” Tubbo says through a yawn, leaning against their brother. 

“That word! That you use! So, we wanted to ask!” 

Techno wants to reply, forgetting about their throat for a moment. They open their mouth and it’s pointless, a cough leaving them instead of an actual response. It makes Techno’s body hurt all that much more, a weak huff falling from their snout as they look down at their lap. 

“Hey, that’s okay!” Tommy is quick to speak, his hands clasping together. “I’m a boy! Tubbo is neither! Wilbur and Dad are boys, too! Mom was a girl but she’s gone now. She would’ve - She would’ve like you - _liked_ you a lot!” 

_There’s another,_ Techno wants to ask, but it gets lost.

“One finger for he and him, two for she and her, three for they and them, four for all, five for something else,” Tubbo says, their words coming incredibly slow. They yawn the instant they’re done with the statement. 

Techno falters, confused for a moment before they understand that Tubbo is asking exactly. They bring both of their hands up, the left holding up one finger and the right holding up three. 

“They and he? You can do two,” Tommy asks, turning towards Tubbo, who shrugs. “Are you a brother or siblings? One for brother, two for sibling.” 

Techno’s eyes widen. Were these kids truly just going to adopt him into the family like that? Just because their dad said he might stay a bit? After a stunned moment, he shrugs. 

“Sibling, just in case,” Tubbo says. Yet another nod leaves the child. 

Somehow, Techno finds it in himself to raise the side of his cape, offering a warm spot for the sleepy duo. Even with it so dark and the only hope of lighting being the bits let in through the open door, Techno can see the dark eyebags under Tommy’s eyes. Immediately, the two are fumbling to lay practically in his lap, Tubbo tucking into his side and Tommy moving to practically drape himself across Techno’s lap. Despite himself, he smiles lightly at the two, an affectionate little bit of him wanting to coddle and protect the two that make their selves at home beside him. He smiles as Tubbo closes their eyes, finally recognizing the yellow plush in their arms to be a bee. 

Tommy continues to talk, though it isn’t but a few minutes before both children are asleep. Despite himself, Techno feels… _Safe._ And while, normally, he wouldn’t dare sleep around others, he finds himself closing his eyes, falling into a deep slumber after the sun has fully risen. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kids usually tend to over correct themselves more than stutter. it isn't hard to teach them correct pronouns, either, especially at a young age.


	5. morning dew

Phil sighs as he gets dressed, his body mutter its protests as he goes. Perhaps staying up into late hours of the night to rage over things he couldn’t change was, in fact, not the best thing to do. It wasn’t as if he could just  _ change that, _ though. He couldn’t just go to bed angry, though he had tried countless times only to be flicked off by the holy deities blessing them. Yeah, he didn’t blame them, waking up angry and irritated wouldn’t have gone over all that well with, welp, anyone, really. 

He can’t help but feel the need to rub the sleep from his eyes as he leaves his room, door still ajar from where he had left it just in case Technoblade had needed anything last night. He was glad he hadn’t fallen asleep before Techno had fallen to the floor, though he felt almost indignant to see the kid in such a frustrated state, struggling to stand, weak whimpers leaving them before Philza had picked them up, so incredibly careful but still managing to irritate their ribs. He had felt bad for it, apologizing frantically, but Techno had responded by putting a hand on Phil’s mouth, putting on lip to their own finger, hushing the man, and shaking their head. They had been so incredibly tired, irritated as can be before they had settled into the bed. Philza had gone to get their cape in hopes of adding onto the comfort the little barrier he had made provided. Techno had wrapped around it, one leg thrown over the barricade and both arms bringing the upper bits to their chest. Philza couldn’t help but smile affectionately as he threw the blanket over them, anger dying down and finally giving him the peace of mind to go to sleep. 

He was still angry that someone could hurt the child so badly. As far as Phil could tell, Techno was well mannered. A bit of a feral child, sure, but they weren’t yelling at the tope of their lungs or constantly trying to fight Philza. No one had even been harmed at all last night. At least, no one outside of Technoblade, that is, and Phil had done his best to help with that. He had told Tommy, Tubbo, and Wilbur not to disturb Techno if they didn’t have to, before sending them all off to bed. They had all been reluctant, even Wilbur having a few questions for them, but none of them had been asked and he had, rather reluctantly, gone to tuck in Tubbo and Tommy, assuring that they were both in their shared room. 

The base of his palm rubs at his eye as he walks to the kitchen, intent on fixing himself a bowl of cereal before the others decided to get up. He isn’t at all surprised to find Wilbur, half asleep at the little island, pouring himself a cup of coffee. Honestly, Phil wasn’t the fondest of Wilbur drinking coffee, but he got a weak version of coffee, practically cheap as dirt to produce on his own, and Wilbur had yet to complain about it. Phil was almost certain that Wilbur couldn’t stand the taste and had just learned to steal himself to drink it, but he hadn’t pointed it out just yet, still amused by the thought and not ready to lose his mind at confirmation. 

“Morning,” is all Wilbur says as he moves to aimlessly dig in the fridge. 

“Morning, Wilbur,” Phil replies with a light smile, still so incredibly fond of his son. He was fond of all of his children and could already feel that parental bond forming with Techno, not that Phil minded too much. He just hoped that Techno would at least accept the help Phil was offering them, that they won’t just up and leave without warning. Maybe he should have clarified that he wished for at least some form of note from Techno before they left, just as some form of closure or something of that sort? Or would that have been far too face blank and direct? He’s pretty sure that would feel like an “I’m kicking you out” sort of feeling and Phil definitely didn’t want that. 

“Have you checked on anyone yet this morning,” Phil asks idly. He could, of course but Wilbur had a tendency to check up on them, too, ensuring that Tommy was actually asleep and Tubbo hadn’t had a nightmare. Tubbo was still going through bad nightmares, ones that weren’t exactly their biological father’s fault but Phil still somewhat blamed him for, unable to let that go. He shouldn’t, seriously, but the amount of times he had to just hold Tubbo through the sobbing while feeling useless and being physically unable to help had torn at his soul. 

“Got up, started coffee, used the bathroom, coffee, fridge,” Wilbur explains simply, pouring a small bit of milk into his coffee as he stares down his dad. They were close, yes, but Phil had a solid belief that Wilbur had gotten his morning personality from his mother, bless Samantha and may her soul rest easy now. After he removes the glass from his lips, he supplies, “So, no.” 

Phil nods lightly, humming in acknowledgment and turning towards the youngest two’s room. He needed to make sure the two were asleep. Tommy’s diagnosis of ADHD had come early and Tubbo’s own of autism came soon after. Typically, if one child was having a bout of insomnia, the other would be, too. If last nights encounter with Technoblade were any bit an indicator of how things would be, he was practically certain that the two of them would both still be up, or having just passed out if the fact he can’t hear Tommy screaming is and Tubbo’s soft, sleepy laughter is any way to look at it, their typical habits for  _ I’m awake _ not being audible, nor visible. The two aren’t raiding the kitchen and Phil doesn’t find either of them asleep on the couch as he passes it. He doesn’t see either on the floor, either, which brings a small bit of hope for them. Maybe tonight they had just slept. Or maybe they had fallen asleep an hour or two ago and Phil would have to help fix their sleep schedule the best he can within the upcoming week and a half it will take. 

Of course, that’s not what happens because the two have different plans. They always tend to do that. 

Their beds are both empty, something that sparks a level of fear deep in his chest. 

_ Shit, _ where the  _ fuck _ could they be? He felt something that Sam used to joke was his  _ motherly adrenaline _ kick in the instant he saw their empty beds, rushing around the room to look for the twoo, softly calling their names. He had once found the two tucked beneath Tubbo’s bed after a bad nightmare and another time in the closet for the same reason. Phil would honestly be surprised if Tubbo hadn’t had a nightmare after all the blood the little family had witnessed yesterday. Yet, both little hidey holes are empty, as well as the little spot beneath Tommy’s bed and the corner behind their dresser that Tommy likes to crawl behind. 

He rushes out of the room, finding Wilbur a bit more awake, obviously on his second cup of coffee by now. “Hey, have you seen them at  _ all,” _ Phil asks softly, gently biting his lip. He begs for the other to say yes. 

“Not since i tucked them in last night,” Wilbur reports, which is the exact opposite of what Phil wants to hear. “Do you think they might have gone to check up on Technoblade last night? They did keep asking questions last night.” 

_ “Fuck,” _ Phil whispers, face-palming. “I told them  _ not to.” _

“You know how Tommy is. He can’t help it and Tubbo is always following him around, just a flower and a bee.” 

Phil nods in acknowledgment. It hadn’t been long since Tubbo had joined their family, not really, nothing more than a year, at most, but the two had become thick as thieves within an instant. Contrary to popular belief, Tubbo tended to be good at planning master schemes and Tommy would execute them perfectly. While Tubbo looked and acted innocent, Phil and Wilbur both knew that they were just as chaotic as Tommy was, if not more. It was a bit stressful at times, like now, but Phil would never regret this. He rushes to the newest member of the houses’ room, finding the door pushed half way open. 

The hairbrush that was previously on the desk the night before was now on the floor. Techno laid on the bed, their cape covering most of their body while the rest seemed to cover the two bundles in front of him. Tommy and Tubbo were both curled tight together in front of him, one of Techno’s arms laid over the two in what looked like a protective sort of way. It strikes a cord in Phil’s hear and he smiles fondly, witnessing the way Techno seems to encace them, sparing his blankets for the two and looking protective over them already. 

He silently debates moving the children, though he knows Tommy is a light sleeper and wakes up grumpy, He isn’t sure about Techno, though he’s almost certain the piglin is an even lighter sleeper than Tommy. He decides it isn’t worth it, showing the three to Wilbur before shutting the door to let the three rest. 

It’s worth the mini panic Phil felt at the fear of the two not being in their beds, if he’s benign honest. He’d be bluntly lying if he said he didn’t find it absolutely adorable. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> last chapter tonight. I'm super sleepy, which is why I'm writing softer, sleep-based scenes
> 
> also dad schlatt for the win
> 
> also also I got a crowbar for Christmas gn


	6. Cross Examination - Clark Powell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings for unintentional self harm, overstimulation, a flashback of a rape scene (it's in a singular paragraph full italics, you don't need to read it, it just explains an injury, it's not graphic rape, just illusions to and such), injuries, bruises, meltdowns, panic attacks, and crying
> 
> song Cross Examination by Clark Powell is included in the Hiveswap 2 soundtrack
> 
> no beta again

Techno’s bones are reluctant to heal. He knows they are, snapping and crackling with every single possible movement he can muscle to do. His bones burn with a cold ache that has yet to leave his bones. Was he always so cold? He was sure there was a time in which he wasn’t this cold, a time in which he was comfortable with himself and hos bones. 

He isn’t comfortable at all now, alone in a bed, Tommy and Tubbo probably having already scampered out. Wilbur and Phil had both checked up on him, neither disturbing the piglin whose back faced them. Or, at least, he assumed the one was Wilbur by the simple fact Techno didn’t recognize the voice he’d heard and Tommy and Tubbo had both mentioned a Wilbur somewhere in the family tree. He can’t remember. Had they said it, or had the voices amongst their many whispers? THey always caught words he hadn’t, giving him information that he never should’ve had, a perspective that was far fom his own. He never had an explanation as a child and, distantly, he remembers calling that voice his mama’s and mommy’s own, despite being too violent and angry to be either woman’s own. It had been a stroke of desperation. He’s far ast that point now. 

He doesn’t feel all the best, shifting slowly in the tangle of sheets that encase him. They feel almost too tight against his skin but he needs the hold to keep him grounded. Where would he be right now without the pressure around his left wrist, without the uncomfortable knot near his crotch, just between his thighs as the blanket folds too many times over itself? It’s uncomfortable, borderlining overstimulating as he lets out a low whine, tossing the blankets off of himself. His annoyance burns deep in his chest and he can’t hold the blanket near him any longer without feeling his throat tighten. When had that tiny step from grounding to too overwhelming happened? He doesn’t know but he shoves the blanket away with his feet and resists the urge to sob. 

The lights aren’t on. It’s still dark in the room, weak light threading in from beneath the curtains as the sun begins to fall. It wasn’t out for long here, Techno can’t remember it being out long in his old village and he doesn’t think he’s too far from it, now. Or, maybe he was and he was half way across the planet, who was to actually say here? All piglins had an internal compass the same way a pigeon did, but Techno’s had been knocked off center, _ beaten _ off center. He had no idea where he had been in the past twenty-four hours and there’s not actually any sort of way to know without consulting the voices, which Techno would rather not do. They were always so loud, so incredibly overwhelming. They’re loud, even now, and he fights the urge to whine and cover his ears in response to their shrill screams that pound relentlessly at the base of his skull. He silently begs for them to calm, to quiet down, but they only seem to scream that much louder. 

Another weak whine leaves him, hands running through his hair, pulling at the strands. It’s a subconscious thing to do. He’s never noticed it before, never noticed the way he yanks and the way his nails dig into his scalp before moving and scratching at his arms. It’s not like he means to do it, it’s just that it feels like the only way he can get out the pent up burst of negative energy. The urge to cry is still there as he flaps his hands, attempting to calm down however he can. He was never taught to cope with moments like these, never learning skills to help him. Instead, they learned to do whatever they could, none of which became healthy coping mechanisms. Techno doesn’t mind too much, as long as it gets the icky feeling to go away and leave them long enough that they don’t have to worry about the fact that their head pounds with unbroken cries and that their throat is so tight that they can actually barely even breathe, hyperventilating. 

_ Oh. _ Oh, yeah, that probably wasn’t all that good. They use the pillow to muffle their noises and let their fingers thread in and out of a tight grasp around the stray sheet on the blanket. Techno waits, begging to come down from this horrid feeling, wishing it away in what was most definitely a begging sort of manner, especially what with the way the voices scream at him to stop his pitiful whining. They’re always like this, unfortunately, which means that it’s nothing new for the young piglin. He shudders slightly and waits. 

Time passes like molasses and the feeling doesn’t entirely leave him, to be quite honest, but it dulls down enough that he can pick up the brush from it’s spot on the ground beside his bed and comb through the tangled pink locks. He sniffles, watching as the tears fall to his lap, salty droplets landing on bare thighs, blurring bruises in certain places. If not for the cold mirth that is his chest, he would believe that maybe he’s calmed enough from his little “moment” that he’s had with himself. He knows he hadn’t though, because his chest still feels so incredibly cold and his mind feels hazy. A fog blankets everything and he can’t be sure he would know how to put up a proper fight right now, much less that he would even actually register that he was fighting, to begin with. 

Everything is still muddy, all sorts of fuddled together when he trots to the bathroom. He isn’t sure if he was always limping, but he notices is now, the way his hip feels like it’s been disconnected from the joint concerning. Techno knows it isn’t out of its socket right now. He’s done that before and it hurts so much worse than it does right now to cause such an injury. It must have been hurt some the other day, almost pulled out, strained the muscle, Techno isn’t sure. 

_ He pulls the child’s leg, listening to the scream that rips from their throat, the begging pointless as Techno feels the muscles rip. Vaguely, they know their body shouldn’t bend like that. _

Techno has to grip at the sink, eyes shutting as they let out a slow breath. They turn on the water, letting the tap run for a moment before bending down slightly, wetting their face with water instead of tears. They wipe the salty streaks away and sniffle once they’ve leaned up. The ghost injury of their hip makes it feel too tight and they do their best to correct it so their walking doesn’t look weird, so that no one will notice. 

He wipes his face with a towel and pretends he doesn’t see the ghost of himself in the mirror. Had he always been so pale? Techno could only ever remember seeing himself in shallow pools of water that reflected the sun or other shiny surfaces like clean armor or his blade when Moma would polish it,looking proud and feeling loved. 

Deep bags beneath the child’s eyes sit there, everpresent and unforgiving. Techno silently pleas that things will be better today. That this feeling will leave, too. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kind of don't want to post for Dream SMP anymore? Like I love my stories, I love getting my ideas out there, but some of the fanbase just... doesn't know how to behave. i just want to post found family and stuff like it but I've had to delete like 3 works because there was discourse in the comments and it was getting rough. I love this work and I really, truly do love being able to post stuff, I love being able to post stuff that people like, but... Gosh, it's rough. 
> 
> For the moment, though, this is my comfort media and I will continue to write stories on it. however, I don't think I will be posting much for it outside of continuing/finishing the few works I've here. If something in particular strikes my fancy or it pertains to one of my series, I may post it, I'm not sure. 
> 
> There is the idea to start a new series/collection, too, but at this very moment, I'm heavily doubting that I'll actually post it, despite the works being done and ready to post. 
> 
> I do hope you all understand! I'll try to at least post once very two weeks for this particular work, but, I don't think it will be more than 10 chapters, as I am doing my best to detach myself from Dream SMP. From what I understand, I've become one of the more problematic people, lol. Anyways, I hope this chapter was alright! And I'll post the next chapter once I've the chance!

**Author's Note:**

> I still don't know shit abt dream smp, here's my discord server   
> https://discord.gg/eGkwayy


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